THE ANDERSON HOLMES SERIE
by TheWritingKoala
Summary: Anderson seems to just be Sherlock's scapegoat. Few are those who know that Anderson is actually Mummy Holmes, Mycroft's husband, who Sherlock turn up to whenever he is feeling down.
1. I  How we met

THE ANDERSON HOLMES SERIE

The Writing Koala

Summary : Anderson seems to just be Sherlock's scapegoat. Few are those who know that Anderson is actually Mummy Holmes, Mycroft's husband, who Sherlock turn up to whenever he is feeling down.

I

_"How we met."_

Anderson has always been a dreamer and has always wished to live a plain simple life.

It doesn't look as such when he is at work, but he is actually living the life he's always dreamt of – even if it is with one of the most complicated man of the world.

When he comes home, his husband never really there but always aware of him being back, he will always find his eldest – twins named Isenham and Ingham because yes, it is customary to name Holmes children with old-fashioned names – dutifully working at their homework while the little two year old Baptistine would be building a castle and organizing strategy to invade the neighbouring kingdom - the latter having been built the day prior.

She had certainly got the genius gene of the Holmes family.

But Anderson didn't mind so much really. Indeed, even if Sherlock was being a rightful jerk with him most of the time, Anderson never forgot why he was doing it. And it was alright with him, as long as he would never hesitate to call him when he needed help.

Anderson hadn't become Mummy Holmes for nothing.

-0-

He had found this young man in a back alley. He was sprawled against the far wall and choking on his own vomit. Anderson had not hesitated though, because even if the boy – and he was a boy really, a skinny 20 years old or so – would perhaps be already dead by the time he reached him, he couldn't just turn his head away and keep walking.

And he gritted his teeth as two middle aged women caught sight of the boy at the same time as he did, and kept walking without so much as a glance back.

Sometimes, Anderson wanted to perform autopsies on live people. He let himself fall onto the floor just beside the boy and quickly lay him on his side while fumbling for his phone.

The boy was alive and Anderson began talking softly to him. He was holding him through his seizure at the same time and couldn't help running a comforting hand through his incredibly thick black locks.

He spoke quickly and professionally to the Medic he got on the phone and hang up afterward.

The boy had stopped seizing and Anderson just had to make sure he didn't die on him. He laid him back on the floor and slapped lightly his thin and white cheek. But the boy was unconscious so Anderson couldn't do much else than wipe vomit and tears off the boy's face with his handkerchief.

"Well, look at you now, all clean." He said and surprisingly the boy shook a little and opened blue-grey eyes on him.

He whimpered and tried to curl on himself so Anderson helped him sit and took his back against his own chest. "It's alright, the ambulance is on his way. Why don't you tell me your name." He said. The boy shuddered again and his head fell farther on Anderson's shoulder. That way, he could see the fluttering eyelashes, white nose and lips of the boy.

"Freak." He said. And Anderson raised his eyebrows and tightened his arms around the far too skinny waist.

"Well, that's actually not really a name, you know. I am sure your parent didn't have such a sick sense of humour."

The boy – Freak – tensed and whimpered again as a wave of dizziness certainly washed over him.

"Little Monster. But I prefer Freak." The shaking voice said, and tears were running on the boy's cheeks.

Anderson frowned deeply and breathed in relief when he heard the sound of the ambulance nearing them.

"Well, then, your mother certainly don't deserve to be called a mother. You seem quite well to me."

"No. No, I am not. I am a freak." He said. And then, he looked up at Anderson and began to tell him his wall day in three or four quick glances and frowns.

Then medics were there, and he was being whiled away from a rather shaken Anderson.

However, the man stood up quickly when he really realised the boy wasn't there anymore and ran to the ambulance, jumping in with the boy and telling dubious Medics that he was a doctor and a friend.

He then slipped his hand in one of the boy's long one and squeezed. "I am sure you've got a real name, can you tell it to me?"

An anxious frown appeared on his face and he pinched his lips. "I like Freak, I chose it." He muttered. "Ok, then. Do you have anyone to contact other than your Mother?" Anderson asked in a gently voice.

"Why did you stop doing autopsies? Being a forensic is boring compared to dissecting bodies."

Anderson smiled and nodded. 'I know. But I like being somewhere else than in a Morgue. I still do some autopsies, though. You're interested in anatomy?"

"I am interesting in every kind of experiments," the boy answered.

"Well, that's good. So anyone to contact?" Anderson said again. The boy's eyes filled with tears and his hands gripped Anderson's tightly.

"My brother. Mycroft Holmes. But I don't think he likes me very much anymore so maybe he won't care."

"Alright then, I'll make sure he is called and we'll see. Go to sleep now, you seem exhausted."

Freak nodded but held Anderson's gaze some more. He licked his lips and swallowed. "Tomorrow or wherever I wake up, I'll be mean to you. I'll be insulting and telling you all kind of terrible stuff about your boring life and your lack of money to keep your flat and your dying father and all that – I'll be horrible to you,' he whispered quickly, his eyes filled with fears and shame.

Anderson smiled and nodded. "Well, I have a bad temper, so I may react harshly for some things, but I'll keep in mind that it's just to protect yourself."

The boy's face fell a little. "It's not." And Anderson nodded and smiled again and then the boy fell into a deep, restless sleep.

-0-

Mycroft Holmes wasn't that hard to find. Actually, Anderson didn't have to go farther than the hospital Hall to find him. The man – early thirties, three pieces suit, umbrella - - Tired eyes, worried, desperate? – was already waiting for them when they came in. Anderson stayed behind while the boy was whiled away.

The man approached him quickly and extended his hand. "Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. How is he?" He asked in an urgent tone.

Anderson took the offered hand and his eyes wandered on the door through which Sherlock – so his name was Sherlock then – had disappeared.

"He is alive, and he'll live. He is very very depressed though, calls himself Freak because he chose it, and this kind of thing. I am still not sure he is relieved not to be dead." He explained.

Mycroft Holmes's face closed and he sighed heavily. "The last time he wasn't." He said in a whisper. And gone was the perfectly well-mannered man, here was a shaken and desperate brother.

"I am sorry." Anderson said. "Have you tried detox, or therapy?" He asked. Mycroft looked up at him and Anderson was suddenly caught in the bluest eyes he'd seen in a long time. They were different from Sherlock's, more like a drop of water of a blue lagoon.

He cleared his throat and nodded when Mycroft answered that yes, he had tried everything but that therapy with Sherlock always ended with the therapist needing a therapy themself and Sherlock disappearing into thin air.

He hadn't stayed in detox more than 3 hours and a half.

"Ok, and have you try to take care of it on your own?" Anderson then asked. The man arched one eyebrow and frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes, in this kind of situation, what addicted people really need is to be taken care of by their family. Of course, they'll deny it, and fight, and yell – they will threaten you to disappear again or to kill themselves and so on…But the truth is they won't do it. Not all of them of course, but I can tell that Sherlock is one of them."

"You mean that I should be taking care of the detoxification of my brother myself?" Mycroft said. "With the help of a doctor or a nurse, yes. He asked for you…" Mycroft's eyes widened and he took a step back. And what a strange family they seemed to form.

"When I asked him who to contact, he told me about you, but he also told me that you wouldn't like him very much anymore and that you certainly wouldn't care."

At that, the man actually had to sit down and he took his head in his hands. "He also told me about his mother calling him 'little Monster'." Anderson said softly sitting beside Mycroft.

The man looked up and his eyes were those of a haunted child. "Yes, yes." He breathed, and Anderson was worried he was going into shock.

"Would you help?" Mycroft whispered.

And again, Anderson fell into Mycroft's desperate and pleading blue eyes and really, how could he say no?

"Ok, I'll do it, but I won't be able to be there at all times, I need a job and…"

"You'll be paid twice as much as your current salary and you'll still have a work when you come back." Mycroft interrupted.

Anderson raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Oh, very well…Then yes, let's go take care of your brother."

-0-

They did. They helped Sherlock a lot and after two months, Sherlock hadn't any drugs in his system anymore.

He was being a stubborn child all the same though.

"You can't just turn your brother's kitchen into a laboratory!" Anderson exclaimed as he watched Sherlock wash a fresh liver – and Anderson didn't even know where he had gotten it (Her name was Molly and she was a student in post-mortem medico-legal expertise at Bart's).

"He barely uses it." Sherlock just answered and he put the organ on the breadboard before taking hand of the meat knife.

"I use it." Anderson said.

"Yes, but as long as you don't take a step forward and finally snog my brother, you don't really live here - So not a valid argument, sorry."

Anderson's cheek burned and he gritted his teeth. "Sherlock." "Face it Anderson, you can't face my brother without little pink bubbles drifting around your head. Oh, and don't worry, he has certainly known it from the first time you two met."

"Yes. I never doubted that he knew, thank you." He said in a rather pathetic voice – which actually sounded quite normal, but he had Sherlock as an interlocutor.

The young man – and he was still very skinny and very pale – raised his head and pinched his lips.

He sighed and put the knife down. "Listen Anderson, my brother has had as much encounter with anyone from the real world than me – meaning, none at all. I have learnt how to interact with normal people because I needed drugs and the only way to find them was to socialize with them, so I did. Mycroft has never had such experience alright? The only other people he had really ever met were politicians or economists, or old magistrates– or our servants. That's about it; he has other people to interact with common men."

"I so appreciate when you're telling me how common we poor people are." Anderson said, sitting up in the high chair at the kitchen-turned-laboratory table.

"I am just telling you the truth. You yourself are not even above the most average person. You are a plain stupid little man among other plain stupid little men."

"Freak, that's quite enough now." Anderson said in a harsh voice. Sherlock tensed a little and his eyes met Anderson's ones.

And that was their thing – whenever Sherlock was insulting or belittling Anderson, the man could use that word to express his annoyance. It had been Sherlock's idea and Anderson had agreed. But the word was rarely uttered in any other form than a tired sigh.

Sherlock didn't say anything though, frowning lightly and biting at his lower lip.

"Fine, whatever – tell me what you're working on." He asked then, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't apologise.

Sherlock smiled a little – the cheeky brat – and raised the knife again. "I am going to cut the liver in two and boil one piece in boiling white wine, while placing the other one in cold white wine."

"What are you trying to accomplish in doing so?" Anderson asked, and it was interesting, really. Sherlock had always crazy ideas, but they weren't bad or anything. Sherlock has a question, he wanted an answer; he had a liver, why wouldn't he do it?

"I want to see if a liver can get cirrhosis without being attached to a living body."

"Ok, try not to cut your finger, Sherlock." Anderson said.

Sherlock stilled again and moved the knife a tiny bit on the left, away for his middle finger. The corner of his lips curled up. "Yes Mummy." He said. Anderson sighed and smiled slightly watching Sherlock finally cut the liver.

"So, what do you think I should do with your brother?" He asked. "Do you know if he is interested?"

Again, Sherlock put the knife down. He breathed heavily and marched to the fridge, extracting some ice cubs from the freezer.

He put them in a box before carefully picking the two liver pieces up and placing them in it. He then put the box back on the last shelf of the fridge.

"Not up to experimenting anymore?"

"I don't want to throw up on a fresh liver and you are asking me for romantic advices regarding my brother and yourself."

"Sherlock, please." Anderson ran his hand through his hair before glaring at Sherlock.

"Oh come on Anderson. I am fine, but you're still living here. Mycroft hasn't even told you that you could go back to work or move out whenever you want. He's found you a job, which is currently filled by temp so you can come and take it – he also got you a flat, not far from here. You could leave Anderson. He knows that, you know that. But you're both fucking waiting for the other to make a move. He knows you want him – god, I am really going to throw up – but he won't come to you because he has absolutely no social skills – "

He eyed Anderson and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, he got use to you as a 'friend' here, but he is interested in more than that but don't want to lose that friendship. He's never had any relationship he actually wanted. So as you're too dumb to see for yourself what my brother is feeling for you, I've told you, and now, you can run to him like a loyal puppy, jump him, and leave me out of it entirely."

Anderson was frozen – in anger or astonishment? – for some time before he managed to smile. He then walked around the table and raised his hand to put it behind his neck. He made Sherlock bend down a little and kissed his forehead.

"Thanks." He said. Sherlock held his arm out and hugged Anderson tightly for one second.

"Well, that the least I can do, Mummy." He said with a smile before stepping back. Anderson rolled his eyes and nodded.

"And that's huge. Thank you, Sherlock."

-0-

_At first it was a game._

_Well no, at first it was in the throw of cold fever and feverish slumber and delirium tremens. _

_Mycroft would stay behind, unable to bear seeing, at first, his brother in such a state, almost – really – being the one to bring him the drugs he needed so much to take away his pain._

_But Anderson would severely reprimand Mycroft for his thoughts while holding Sherlock against him, running his hand through his hair and singing quiet lullabies in his hears. _

_One day, Sherlock was shivering and whimpering and clenching and unclenching his fists, sprawled on Anderson whose back was resting on the headboard when he opened his pain-filled eyes._

_"Thank you, Mummy." He croaked. Anderson's eyes held Sherlock's gaze for some time and when he was sure Sherlock was recognising him, he smiled._

_"You're welcome, Sherlock." _

_And then, Sherlock smiled a little and went back to sleep._

_After that, whenever Sherlock would wake up, he would be calmer and more peaceful than he had been until now. The worst of the withdrawal had come and gone, Mycroft's fear had been tamed and Anderson's worries had been proven wrong._

_Sherlock had stayed, fought the pain, the craving and the longing to kill himself and was now capable of eating, showering or even talking._

_Not that the latter was necessarily a blessing._

_But they had developed a sort of close parenting relationship – Sherlock desperately needed someone to look up at, to not fear, to be close to and show his pain to and cry to and yell at for everything that had been done to him. _

_Well, Anderson had become just that, and even if he would have preferred being called 'Daddy ' in Sherlock pained confession, he was quite alright with it nonetheless._

_And he was also terribly relieved to see each Holmes brothers doing daily better._

_He just prayed not to be called 'Mummy' by Mycroft – never ever._

FIN

I

Thank you for reading, feedback are welcome ^_^

The next part should be more about Mycroft and Anderson.


	2. II How we got married

THE ANDERSON HOLMES SERIE

The Writing Koala

Summary : Anderson seems to just be Sherlock's scapegoat. Few are those who know that Anderson is actually Mummy Holmes, Mycroft's husband, who Sherlock turn up to whenever he is feeling down. – sort of BAMP!Anderson

II

« How we got married »

Sherlock had been right – of course he had been, duh. And Anderson had finally had the courage to confront Mycroft one fine evening of June 2004 and well – jump him in the middle of the living-room.

It hadn't been exactly like that, but that was the story Sherlock was spreading with a large crazy smile in the front hall of the Westminster city council.

Anderson was almost glad Mycroft was running a little late because he wasn't sure he wouldn't get an ulcer watching Sherlock speak with the most influential politicians of the world – and Mycroft certainly had arranged the date of the ceremony so that the Queen couldn't sadly attend.

"Am I the only one feeling like the black duck of the farm?" A rough voice asked on Anderson's left. Anderson smiled a little and poked his elder brother's side. "No it's not. We're representing the poor side of Great Britain."

"A shame we don't wear rags, then."

"Clay, behave," came a second voice just behind them. "Sebastian, you're almost as late as the groom himself," said a cheerful third voice.

Sebastian frowned, looking down (very down) at his little brother. "Your fiancée got second thoughts?" He said in a gruff voice.

Anderson rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, Bush just wanted a meeting this morning and Mycroft couldn't say no to him."

Clay's face darkened. "Even for you."

Anderson breathed deeply and faced his three huge older brothers – they were all rugbymen players since primary school – kindergarten? Anderson had himself preferred to play in the mud with his model dinosaurs.

He was four years younger than Clay, who was 36. Sebastian and Eliot were 40 and 42 years old – there were still pretty much stuck at 15 in their heads though.

"Not even for me Clay, and I respect that and it's all ok and…For Christ sake Sherlock!" He whispered harshly, marching toward the young man in quick steps. He was attempting to burn one of the artificial flower displayed here and there in the Hall.

"What do you think you are doing, Sherlock?" He exclaimed, taking hold off Sherlock's forearm and stealing the lighter from him.

Sherlock pouted and glared at him. "I am bored." Anderson rolled his eyes and scanned the assembly.

"Ok, what can you tell me about that charming plump pink Lady there?" He said, discreetly pointing out to a rather old fat ugly woman.

Sherlock used three seconds to look at her before deducing the most terrifying things about her – and god, he would never allow Mycroft to do any guest list again.

A 'bip' broke Sherlock in the middle of his deduction and he fished Anderson's phone out of his pocket.

"Mycroft will be here in 5." He read, and they observed as a very well dressed Anthea announced to the assembly that they were welcome to go find their sit.

"You'll be married in less than one hour Mummy." Sherlock said softly, giving him his phone back.

Anderson smiled brightly and squeezed Sherlock's arm. "Yes, I will."

"You'll be officially a part of our family." The young man said again, and he looked a little paler than five minutes ago. Anderson frowned and forced him to meet his eyes.

"Nothing could make me happier, Sherlock. You know that." He said. Sherlock nodded with reluctance before shrugging.

"But you don't really know our whole family."

"But we've got enough of a Holmes family on our own; we don't need anyone else, Sherlock." He murmured. And Mycroft appeared just behind them – and how did he always do it, Anderson would never know– patting Sherlock back gently and smiling with reassurance at him.

"Family is where the heart is." Anderson concluded.

Mycroft kissed him quickly and led his brother to the room, before seating him on the front row. Anderson followed them with a smile and stop to give a kiss to his parents and a bear hug to his delighted brothers.

"You're marrying the poshest kid of the school Andy, well done." Sebastian said with a large smile.

Anderson rolled his eyes and said. "I am not marrying him for his money, Seb'. You can't imagine how good he is at sex." He said, and his brother's face fell. He snickered and joined Mycroft quickly on the little platform.

The lord-Mayor, who was celebrating the ceremony, shook hands with Mycroft and welcomed the assembly.

Then, Anderson stopped listening and just stayed dumbfounded by the fact he was finally marrying Mycroft.

A strong cough took him out of his reverie and he turned his head a little to see Sherlock smiling at Clay, who had apparently been the one to cough.

"Mister Mayden, I am about to ask you the question." Said the Mayor's voice and Clay and Sherlock rolled their eyes at the same time and held back their laugh when Anderson blushed furiously.

"Sorry," he muttered, throwing a glance at Mycroft's impassive face. But Anderson knew him enough to know that he was internally roaring like a hyena.

"So, if no one in the assembly has a valid reason to oppose this union, we may…" But the Lord-Mayor was far too confident. He was interrupted by the burst of doors and Anderson groaned.

"Come on, it only happens in fucking movies." He swore, and was half expecting Mycroft to reprimand him but his future husband wasn't saying a word – neither was anyone else.

And then Sherlock _whimpered_and Anderson promptly turned around.

And oh, there was no mistaking the identity of the trouble makers.

Broderick and Vienna Holmes stood there in all their arrogant majesty. "We can't allow this nonsense to happen, Alfred." Broderick Holmes said, his voice deep as he talked directly to the celebrating Mayor.

The latter narrowed his eyes before sighing heavily.

"Mycroft, you have to cease this scandalous behavior. I am very disappointed in you. I thought that after Sherlock no one could ever do me so much pain but – Mycroft why are you doing this to your poor mother." Vienna Holmes said in a false desperate voice.

But Mycroft was stoic, silent. And Anderson saw his brothers slipping between chairs to come seat beside a nearly catatonic Sherlock.

He gritted his teeth and only half listened when Mycroft's father commanded his son to cancel the ceremony and come back home.

And then, to Anderson's utter amazement– and certainly the whole Assembly of Mycroft's supporter (and they were, even the frighteningly powerful pink lady) – Vienna Holmes called out a name and a graceful blonde little cunt – woman – came in.

"That's Annia Mycroft, she is perfect for you and…"

"…Annnnnd I think this is quite enough now." Anderson interrupted her – because Mycroft was apparently in the same state of shock than Sherlock. He approached the old couple and crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows.

"How dare you interrupt my wife in…"

"And you, shut up as well." Anderson said. And he smiled when the man began to literally glow red.

"You have no idea what I could to you, to your family and your children and grand-children, you little…" he hissed. But a loud sound cut him off and Alfred, the Lord-Mayor came to stand beside Anderson.

"Are you actually threatening him Broderick?" The man asked in a tight voice full of fake wonder.

"Alfred, you of all people should understand what a shame it is for families like ours to have married queers for an heir." Mycroft's father hissed.

"Know, Broderick, that I am very proud to have a married queer for an heir, who with Mycroft fought for the right to enter a recognized partnership."

"Well, I won't ever condemn sodomy in my household…"

Anderson's eyes went wide and he shook his head- How Sherlock and Mycroft had managed to become such amazing men with these horrible people was a mystery.

"Ok, that's it. Out with you. Brothers." Anderson said, and at once, Anderson's giants three brothers where beside him. "Now, go away or they'll make you. And don't ever come near Mycroft or Sherlock uninvited again."

Broderick Holmes glared at Anderson and Vienna adopted the most pathetic sad face he had ever seen – and yes, she had certainly worked on Sherlock and Mycroft with sick emotional blackmails. She raised her head and Anderson could see she was going to try and speak to Sherlock of all people. A burst of rage almost shook Anderson and he took a step forward.

"Don't you dare," he said. And he may not have been as big and frightening as his brothers but he had back up and dark eyes and he was filled with evident rage.

A long silence stretched out in the room before finally, Broderick and Vienna Holmes turned their back to them and stalked out, head raised, arrogant against all.

"No but seriously?" Clay exclaimed, clapping Anderson hard on the back. Anderson glared and joined Sherlock and Mycroft quickly. Mycroft had sat himself beside Sherlock and was talking softly to him but the young man wasn't reacting.

"Sir, could we use your office for five minutes?" Anderson asked the Mayor. After the man had nodded, Anderson turned toward the guests and smiled apologetically.

"I am so very sorry for this scandalous interruption. The ceremony will go on in five minutes, let me just patch up my best man." He said softly. Some people clapped their hands, some others smiled at him and Anderson quickly help Sherlock to stand up and they followed Alfred to his office.

"Take your time." The man said looking sadly at Sherlock.

He then closed the door and Anderson seated Sherlock and Mycroft on the chesterfield sofa.

"Now, look at me, you two." He said in a commanding voice. "It's over, they're gone, ok? Sherlock, they're gone."

"Anderson, if you want to cancel the ceremony, I'll understand. We can – " but Anderson held his hand up interrupting Mycroft as Sherlock began hyperventilating.

"Alright stop it. I am not going anywhere. I am marrying you Mycroft. Sherlock, look at me." He took Sherlock's face into both of his hands and forced him to look at him.

"I am not going anywhere, I love your brother, I love you, and I am not going anywhere alright? I don't fear you parents, and I trust Mycroft to have more influence than his retired father could ever have. I don't fear them, alright? And if I have to be your knight in shining armor for it, I'll be just that. You get to be better than me in everything, I get to stand and send to hell your fucking parents. I don't fear them, and I'll protect you, both of you, against them. You trust me?" Anderson said, and he directed a fraction second his gaze on Mycroft. The man nodded, tensed, and finally Sherlock breathed, let out one sob, and fell into Anderson arms.

"I am not Mummy for nothing Sherlock. You don't owe anything to this people. Family is where the heart is." Anderson whispered into Sherlock's hair, one of his hands searching for Mycroft's one.

"Everything's fine."

So they married.

And Anderson was the happiest husband of the whole world even if Sherlock got himself drunk with his brothers and vomited in a flowerpot because apparently, even if the man had tasted every drug available, he hadn't ever really drank more than a glass of wine.

And Anderson should really have thought about it better before entrusting him into his brothers' hands.

"Jeremiah, please, if Sherlock say something nasty to you, regarding aspect of your life you don't want anyone to know and so on, please, don't hit him. He's like that, he can't really stop doing it. Just say him that he got it right and ruffle his hair or whatever but don't hit him, and don't let Clay and Sebastian hit him either."

Jeremiah looked at his brother's face very intently before smiling brightly and laughing.

"It's a little bit too late ya know bro." The man – drunk, of course – it was 5 in the morning – said and Anderson looked out for Sherlock, alarmed.

"We didn't hit him bro, r'lax. We challenged him. He is currently deducing aunt Madge's infidelities from top to bottom. Oh and he is also very drunk. Like me, in fact." He said, and he turned around quickly and wandered off.

Anderson looked at his back for a while before sighing heavily. "Have you found him then?" Mycroft asked in his ear. Anderson's heart lipped out and he turned around, frowning. "Seriously, couldn't you at least ring a bell before apparating?" He asked.

Mycroft narrowed his head and raised an eyebrow. "Apparating?" He said.

Anderson let out a laugh and kissed his husband. "I should have known you wouldn't know Harry Potter."

"I know of Harry Potter, Anderson, I just haven't read the books. So where is my little brother?"

"My brothers are apparently drinking him under the table and asking him all the dirty secrets of every member of our family." He sighed and Anderson would have loved to take his man to bed.

But – well – they had to take care of their child, right?

"I am going to find him and then we go home." He whispered and kissed Mycroft again before following the path his big brother had taken earlier.

He found Sherlock and his brother in the children's part of the large dining-room, not under the table but kneeling on it, with two little girls, and armed with a long stick – from the flowerport, no doubt – fighting Clay in duel.

"You won't live long enough to see the earth again, Pirate." Clay said, and Sherlock avoided in extremis to be slapped in the face.

He however lost his balance and fell off the table, right on Anderson.

He caught him – of course – for all of one second before collapsing under the long body.

"Right, I think we call it a night. Clay, help the girls to get down. Sherlock, we're going." But as his brother took their little cousins in his arms, Sherlock for his part, stayed still.

Anderson raised an eyebrow, turned his head and looked up to see Sherlock's eyes closed and soft snores escaping his wine-reddened lips.

"Oh, that just great." He muttered.

"Do you need some help, Mister Holmes?" An amused voice asked above them. His arms tightened around Sherlock and he breathed heavily and laughed a little.

"Yes please Mister Holmes, your brother is suffocating me."

"Well, it wouldn't do for you to die of suffocation on your wedding night." Mycroft said, kneeling down and rolling Sherlock into his arms. He then straightened and stood up, smiling softly as Sherlock's head rested on his shoulder.

"I am sure Sherlock would be delighted to get a corpse to play with."

Mycroft's lips thinned and he bent down a little. "Not yours, my dear." He said, and brushed his lips against Anderson's ones.

The man smiled and nodded. "I know."

-O-

They didn't have a honey moon – First because Mycroft couldn't really take any holidays at the moment. Second because they would have had to take Sherlock with them and Sherlock was only really happy in London. The boy – 21 now, but still, he was a boy to Anderson - would only be an annoying brat and if the goal was to have sex like rabbits, they could easily do it at home, Sherlock having his own little Dupleix above their flat.

So instead of taking some time off to just bath in the pool of pink bubbles his brain had become - and Sherlock's words had just been slightly more insulting – he took the young man with him at work one day – his first day back, in fact.

The man they met at the yard eyed them warily and took them with reluctance in his office.

"So, you are Anderson Mayden, that's right?" The man said. "Holmes, now." Anderson corrected. The silver haired man just nodded vaguely and extended his hand.

"Detective inspector Lestrade. We've been wondering about you for some time M. Holmes, are you finally going to take your job?" He asked, his voice a little rough.

"Yes, I am." He said simply. Then Lestrade's eyes turned toward Sherlock and he looked him from head to toes, before raising an interrogating eyebrow.

"And who are you?" He asked Sherlock directly.

"I am a consulting detective and I would like to work with you." He answered in a deep voice filled with confidence.

The man barked a laugh and shook his head. "And you think we need the help of consulting detective, Mister…?"

"Holmes."

Realization crossed Lestrade's face and he nodded. "Oh I see."

"No you don't. But I can show you. The case you're working on – the coffee murderer – I can solve it in five minutes." Sherlock said.

Lestrade looked at Anderson who just nodded solemnly. "Can you really?"

"Yes. Show me the report and pictures." He said – even if, in fact, he had already gotten hold of the files in the morning.

And then, Sherlock just did his magic trick and Anderson thought for a minute that Lestrade was actually going to hug him.

He didn't. He just shook Sherlock's hands and took his phone number, promising that he would call whenever he had a tricky case.

And for the remaining time, Anderson – with Mycroft's influence – got Sherlock's into a research team at bart's – a research team made up of only one person. Basically, Sherlock had access to a private lab and almost everything he needed for his experiment.

And life, for them was good.

-O-

At the end of the year 2005, almost ten months after Mycroft and Anderson's marriage, Isenham and Igham came to life.

A carefully chosen surrogate had already been found before the marriage and not a month later, she had gotten impregnated with Anderson's semen.

And Anderson would have loved to have children who would look like Mycroft or Sherlock but the both of them had been against the idea, the fear of the children being 'wrong' in some way overwhelming them.

Anderson hadn't fought. But if they were ever going to have another child, then Mycroft would be the one to father them.

The boys were the cutest babies Anderson had ever seen. And seeing them in Mycroft or Sherlock's arms was the cutest thing Anderson had ever witnessed.

Mycroft was acting all serious and confident when he had one of the twins in his arms, but as soon as he would put them down, it was like the air had left his lungs.

Anderson understood later on that Mycroft was actually terrified in the first time to let them fall.

Sherlock was another story entirely. He refused to hold them at all, not while standing at least. He would just lay down on the floor with them and held staring contest with one or both of them for hours. Anderson wouldn't have believed it if anyone else had told him that but Sherlock was actually fascinated with babies – or their babies? His nephews?

And to anyone utter amazement (anyone being Anderson's brothers and parents and Anthea), Anderson and Mycroft, when working, trusted Sherlock completely to take care of their sons – after the young man had finally accepted to take his nephews in his arms.

And life keep being the dream Anderson had always wanted his life to be.

Two years later, Sherlock decided it was time for him to move out.

"You know, eating is actually what makes you fat." Sherlock said in a rather nasty voice to his brother as Anderson came into the room.

"Sherlock, please."

He kissed Ingham on the forehead, avoiding with ease a rather vengeful children fork. He then proceed to great his second son who tucked his arms around his father's neck and held him down with all his little force. He gave him a loud smack before going back to eat quietly.

"What, I am only telling you the truth. Well, you're a politician so it wouldn't surprise me if you ended being an obese bald man in your fifties but you should be more careful, really. I am not sure Mummy would still appreciate being fucked by a giant seal."

"Sherlock!" hissed Anderson angrily. "Stop being a freak and apologize. What's gotten into you?" He asked, frowning. He stood beside Mycroft who sat on the kitchen table in front of Sherlock and kissed his temple.

Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted.

"My brother wants to move out. He found a nice flat in Backer Street and nurture the idea that he could move in there and find himself a flat mate."

"And you said no", Anderson finished.

"Of course, the probability for my brother to find a flatmate is approaching the absolute zero." Mycroft said in a vague voice.

Anderson breathed deeply and sat down beside his husband.

"Both of you, really…Mycroft, there is no saying that Sherlock couldn't find himself a flatmate. If my brothers like him enough, it means that there must be people who could handle him for a longer amount of time." Mycroft looked way too doubtful to be even slightly convinced.

"Sherlock, are you certain you want to move out? No more kids, no more meals, no more us? That's your decision, of course, and it's normal that you want to take your independence. But please, if you do it and it doesn't work to your expectation, don't you dare hesitate to come back here. Clear?" He said.

Sherlock smiled softly and nodded. "I promise." He said, and then ran his finger on Ingham's cheek to wipe some carrot puree.

-O-

The first time Lestrade witnessed the very unusual relationship between Anderson and his brother-in-law, the latter was methodically listing every failure Anderson had experienced in his life, from the premature ejaculation during his first sexual experience to his father having been sick for far longer than he had said he was.

Lestrade observed with narrowed eyes as Anderson gritted his teeth and took it all, and then, without a glance back Sherlock asked him to go out because he couldn't think with palpable stupidity touching his skin.

"Are you kidding me Freak?"

At first, Lestrade didn't really know how to react. He needed Sherlock input each times he resorted to call him and he was pretty sure that Anderson knew how to handle Sherlock.

But the more he saw Sherlock insult his brother-in-law shamelessly and snap at him whenever he was in the room the more he doubted the poor man could handle it.

He observed as Anderson left the room and decided to follow him, curious as to what Anderson's reaction once alone would be.

He found him outside, texting away on his phone, his back on the wall of the house.

"You okay?" he asked, and Anderson raised his head and looked surprised. "What?"

"Sherlock is being a right jerk to you and he is your in-law so I thought…Are you okay?"

And Anderson actually smiled at that. "That's nice thank you, but don't worry. I have known Sherlock for four and a half years and he had never found any other way to show his affectation than by insulting people."

Lestrade raised one of his eyebrows. "You mean he is showing you his affection there?"

Anderson let out a puff of air and nodded, smiling. "Yes, he is. Oh sometimes I get angry, you've already seen it, but it's alright, we're family."

"He must love you very much." Lestrade added. And Anderson eyed him before smiling again. "He does, if you can believe it."

"Thing is, he insults me and the whole team pretty much every day as well, does that mean he likes us?" He then asked.

Anderson burst out in laughter and shook his head. "No, that's just Sherlock for you." He answered. "You have to be family to understand the subtle difference. But I am actually pretty sure he holds you in high regards."

"What about Sally?"

Anderson frowned then, and grunted. "I don't like her calling him a Freak, but I do, so…She hates him too much and I don't like that. But as the saying say, 'Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer."

"You consider Donovan an enemy." Lestrade frowned and Anderson shrugged.

"I think she could hurt Sherlock by her words, and I am basically Sherlock's guardian, so yes, she is my enemy. But don't worry, she will never know it."

These evening, after having forced Sherlock to go home because it was late and the man hadn't slept in days – and it had been an epic battle to make him promise to sleep, which had ended with a kiss on the forehead and a "Good night Mummy." – Anderson finally got to go home and find his little boys and husband.

"You think we should have another one?" Mycroft said softly as they sat on the floor in the cozy living-room, their naked feet sinking in the thick carpet.

Ingham was standing between his legs, trying to climb on his father's shoulder, while Isenham was quietly resting against Anderson's chest, a hand in his mouth, chewing.

"If we do, I want him to be yours." Anderson answered softly. He ran his hand against his son's light hair and the little boy raised his head and smiled.

"Anderson..."

"Mycroft, you are an extraordinary person. I love you and I love Sherlock. My brothers, and parents love you as well and you know it. You are not the aberration you both think you are. You are smart boys who had abusive parents, and that's it. That's terrible, and sad, but it made you stronger. You are good men, both of you. Please, these two need a little brother and sister, and I want him or her to be yours, I want you to see what it feel like to see their little faces and think, 'oh god, he's got Clay's feet'."

Mycroft stared at his husband for a while before finally nodding his head. "Ok, I'll do it. We'll do it." Anderson gave him a bright smile and came crawling, Ingham between his arms, toward his husband and second son. He took Mycroft neck gently in his free hand and kissed him thoroughly.

"I love you."

"I do too, Anderson. I love you too." Mycroft said. And the twins choose that moment to get into a fight and started yelling bloody murder – in baby language.

FIN

II

That's it for the wedding, I hope you enjoyed!

Feedback are most welcome, thanks.


	3. III How we all met John

THE ANDERSON HOLMES SERIE

The Writing Koala

Summary : Anderson seems to just be Sherlock's scapegoat. Few are those who know that Anderson is actually Mummy Holmes, Mycroft's husband, who Sherlock turn up to whenever he is feeling down. – sort of BAMP!Anderson

III  
>"How we all met John"<p>

Sherlock's new idea was at the beginning of June 2009, to find a flatmate.

"If I want to move in to Baker Street, I have to find a flatmate." He said on a day he was having breakfast with them. Four years old Ingham and Isenham looked up and observed him seriously for some time. Then, they turned to their dad and rose – really – one eyebrow each. Anderson who was feeding little baby Baptistine smirked before looking up to Sherlock. He shrugged.

"That's a very good idea Sherlock." He answered. And the look of clear and pure relief that crossed Sherlock's face hurt Anderson a little.  
>Sherlock had no faith in himself.<p>

"You know it's going to be hard though." He added softly.

"I can make compromise." Sherlock grunted, sitting in front of Anderson and handing an orange to Isenham. "Merci tonton," the little boy said in perfect French.

Sherlock nodded.

"Compromise would make you unhappy, Sherlock." Mycroft's voice came for the hallway and Anderson's face lit up, a large smile eating at his face.

"My, you're back." Anderson said before the boys who had been looking at their father with gobsmacked expression jumped out of their seats and ran to their father.

"Papa." They cried excited before hugging Mycroft's knees with all their little forces.

Mycroft kneeled and kissed his boys' forehead.

"I missed you, boys." He said. And the children nodded frantically and hugged his neck. "We missed you too." They answered.

Mycroft stood up with his sons in his arms and came to the table. He deposited the boys in their seats, then kissed Sherlock's forehead as well and rounded the table to properly great his husband. He then took the baby in his arm and little Baptistine laughed and clapped her sticky hands on her father's tie.

"Hello, princess." He said. The child looked intently at its father for a while before bubbling vigorously. Mycroft's big smile softened.  
>He seated her back in her high chair.<p>

"So, flatmate?" he said after taking a seat next to Anderson.

"Yes, flatmate." Sherlock answered.

-O-

Mike Stamford had not been Sherlock's friend at first. He had been Anderson. And he would remember the day the man came into his lab with this gangly young fellow for a very long time – in fact, he would remember it as much as he remembered his daughter's birth.

Since then, Sherlock had been a constant presence in St Bart's life and everyone knew what kind of 'little shit' the boy – he was still a boy for most of them, even if he was now almost twenty-seven – could be.

"So, Anderson told me you were searching for a flatmate." He said walking into Sherlock's attributed lab.

The boy looked up and nodded. "Yes, but unfortunately, there aren't a lot of people who would want me for a flatmate," he explained, cutting straight into a fresh lung.

"Have you had any answer?"

"I already tried living with two very different type of person, but the first was cheating on his girlfriend with said girlfriend's father, and the other one was an ex drug addict who was only waiting to find someone else to take up the drug again." – And this one had been thrown out of the flat Manu military by Anderson and Lestrade.

"Well, I am sure you'll find someone soon, Sherlock, don't give up." Mike said with a smile.

"I won't." Sherlock frowned and looked into his microscope. Mike took his leave.

-O-

"I've got a flatmate Mummy." Sherlock's voice said on the phone. Anderson smiled and walked away from the building site where they had found a third suicide victim.

"Really, who's he?" Anderson asked, watching Donovan looked around the crime scene.

"His name is John Watson ; Army doctor, wounded in service, he wasn't put out by my deduction." Sherlock explained with an excited voice. Anderson smiled.

"Well, Sherlock, that's great."

"_Anderson_!" Lestrade yelled at him from the police car.

"Love, I've got to go, but prepare yourself to see Greg come to you in the next day or so."

"No, he'll wait for a new one." Sherlock answered.

"All right, wonder boy. But still, he'll come to you soon enough. Come for breakfast tomorrow Sherlock."

"Yes Mummy, I'll come."

And they hung up. Anderson looked at the phone a while longer and smiled again, happy and relieved. His phone biped.

'_Stop smiling like that or I'm going to throw up on my lung. SH_'

Anderson kept smiling.

-O-

The very first time Anderson met John Watson, Sherlock was in one of his mood.

First, he insinuated that he and Donovan were having an affair – which was, frankly, hilarious. But Sherlock was apparently really trying to show off to John. And then they were standing in the room where the new suicide victim was laying and as soon as Anderson suggested that 'Rache' may mean 'revenge' in German, Sherlock throw him outside the room very effectively – he closed the door to his face.

Anderson rolled his eyes and rested his back against the wall. He then took out his phone.

_'John Watson seems to be one of a kind – he actually looks genuinely fascinated by Sherlock._' He wrote, and then smiled when he heard a 'Brilliant' said by the unfamiliar voice of John Watson in the room.

'_I programmed a meeting in 30 minutes – just to be sure_.' His husband answered not 15 seconds later. Anderson held back a chuckle and raised his head when Sherlock flowed past him.

He was rambling about serial Killer and suitcase and pink and – and John Watson was now all alone, pathetically going down the stairs.

Anderson followed him slowly outside the abandoned house and gritted his teeth when he saw Donovan clearly warning the doctor away from Sherlock.

'_Are you ready to take him_?' Anderson wrote quickly as he watched John walk away from the crime scene.  
><em>'Already on my way. The car is ready for him<em>.'  
>'<em>Good. Coming home in 25 minutes<em>.'

-O-

Anderson was rocking Baptistine when Mycroft entered the living-room. He smiled, looking softly at his husband and their last born.

"So, how is he?" Anderson whispered, the little girl's grey eyes dropping slowly close. She kept re-opening them, though, watching her dad in fascination.

"He is – good." Mycroft said, sitting beside Anderson and undoing his tie. He seemed a little bit surprised by his own statement, but relieved all the same. "He refused the money." He added, and Anderson chuckled.

"Well, if he refused the money then, he must be the one." Anderson smirked and breathed deeply.

"I just hope he'll get use to Sherlock." He added in a whisper.

"Papa," said a voice behind them. Mycroft and Anderson turned their heads and greeted Isenham with a warm smile. The little boy came running around the sofa and jumped on his papa's laps.

"What is the matter, Isenham?" Mycroft said, his arms hugging his son closely.

"You're very late." He said, pouting. "They wanted you to read them a story before bed," Anderson said.

"Well, come on then. But just a little one."

Isenham's smile lit up the whole room. Anderson watched them disappear through the door and was going to take his daughter back to bed when his phone biped.

'_Tell your insufferable husband to stop interfering or I'll never talk to him again - SH_!'

Anderson raised his eyebrows and smirked.

_'A little overdramatic, Sherlock, don't you think_?'

'_He could have put John off. John's good. Stop worrying – SH_.' - yes, he seemed to be, Anderson thought.

'_Just wanted to be sure, love, and we are reassured. Mycroft told me he was good.'_ He wrote. Baptistine bubbled in her sleep and Anderson watched with delighted fascination.

_'Really?'_  
>Anderson was still so unsure. '<em>Yes Sherlock. He said John Watson was good. We approve of him<em>.'

'_Well, that's good. But tell Mycroft that I won't speak to him until he has apologized for kidnapping my flatmate without asking first._'  
>Anderson grunted and breathed deeply. '<em>That man is not a toy, Sherlock<em>.'

'_I know,_' appeared the reply on his screen almost instantly.  
><em>'Goodnight love<em>.' He wrote, finally.  
>'<em>Night, Mummy.<em>'  
>And then, Anderson stood up and went through the long corridor to his daughter's room. <p>

-O-

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it." Mycroft said when Sherlock and John – who had just killed a man to save Sherlock's life (really, Anderson approved of him greatly) – met him just outside the crime scene.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock grunted – oh and he was still pissed off with Mycroft who had certainly not apologized.

Anderson rolled his eyes, resting his head lazily against the leather backseat of the car.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you." Mycroft answered.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern," retorted Sherlock.

Anderson sighed and waited for Mycroft to apologize – and then maybe Sherlock would come eat with them – but his stubborn husband avoided the question entirely.

"… We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy."

And no, Anderson really didn't want to be brought up in the conversation, specifically by Mycroft who had absolutely no right to call him 'Mummy' – His husband was certainly going to face some sex withholding for the next week. And Anderson shuddered at the idea of being called Mummy by Mycroft in their bed.

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!" And he was not a woman – for god sake, Sherlock. _'I – am – not – a – women, Sherlock!'_ he wrote swiftly on his phone, certain that Sherlock would ignore him.

"No. No, wait. Mummy, who's 'Mummy'?" Came the astonished voice of John – and Anderson would have killed to just get outside the car now and tell him that **he** was 'Mummy' – haha – but for security's sake, he couldn't expose himself.

"Mother. This is my brother Mycroft," explained Sherlock and something in Anderson shuddered as he heard Sherlock really referring to him as his mother. He smiled softly.

"He is your brother?" John Watson asked in a mildly horrified voice. Anderson chuckled from inside the car, but neither Mycroft nor Anthea acknowledged him.

"Of course he's my brother." Sherlock responded impatiently.

"So he's not—"John kept going, his voice faltering.

"Not what?"

"I don't know, criminal mastermind." He said, and Anderson had a hard time holding his bark of laugh.

He could almost see the smirk on Sherlock's face. "Close enough."

"For goodness sake," Mycroft breathed, annoyed. "I occupy a minor position in the British government." – Oh and that was the understatement of the month.

"He is the British government. When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic." And trust Sherlock to right the wrong and expose his brother in front of everyone.

"So when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned," John asked genuinely.

"Yes of course," replied Mycroft in his poshest voice. Anderson smiled again.

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?" - More like an adult feud, but they were still pretty much 10 and 12 in their heads when annoyed by eachother.

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

If John couldn't imagine them, Anderson could certainly remember them and yes, it was epic – even if Sherlock and Mycroft had ended completely pissed in Mycroft and Anderson's bed, sleeping and snoring like two gigantic bear.

And Anderson had taken the picture and framed it. It was now resting on the mantel because it was the cutest picture of the brother together.

"Yeah…No, God, no," John answered before walking quickly away to catch up with Sherlock who had certainly already taken his leave.

Anderson watched Anthea then Mycroft get in the car and he smiled broadly at his husband. "Enjoyed yourself?" Mycroft asked, taking hold of his husband's outstretched hand. Anderson chuckled and nodded.

"Quite a lot." He said, and Mycroft shared his smile. "So John Watson." Anderson added. Mycroft breathed deeply and taped his umbrella against the car's floor.

"John Watson. Are you ready to be Mummy-in-law?" Mycroft asked and Anderson's eyes grow wide. He then grimaced and nipped at his bottom lip. "Sherlock is clearly besotted, but what of Watson?" He said.

"John Watson has quite the record. He was called 'three continent Watson' by his army fellows. But I think that for this time, we should see what happen." Mycroft said. And it must have been the hardest statement of the year because never – very rarely – did Mycroft allow situations to not be entirely governed by him.

Anderson leaned into him and kissed him briefly. "Good. That's good."

Fin part III

Notes : Thank you for reading. The next part will be about the pool and Reichenbach - what really happened for Anderson to try and convince Lestrade Sherlock was a fraud, haha. ^_^ Go see my LJ - I made a banner for this story ^_^ Hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment.


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